


Defining Home

by supershadsy



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 14:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21321385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supershadsy/pseuds/supershadsy
Summary: An au ra and viera travel together through Eorzea, learning a little about themselves and each other through small vignettes.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Defining Home

**Author's Note:**

> [This is Takame,](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EHHfUl8XYAEw1SP?format=jpg&name=large) and [this is Feilea.](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EHnE2XJWoAAF-pR?format=jpg&name=large) They belong to tomestoneofbon on Twitter and myself respectively. 
> 
> I also have no clue how to tag this! I just wanted a place to post it so others may be able to enjoy. I tried a bit of a different narration style than I usually do, and I hope it pays off! Thanks, and enjoy.

It’s early morning in Reunion. Takame watches the sunrise with his usual stoic demeanor. He has seen it rise plenty of times over many different places, but the Steppe holds a reverence that he can't quite place. Maybe it's due to the Xaela who inhabit it--with features like his, yet unlike his; familiar, yet foreign. Maybe it's the valleys that catch its light best, the light of a lover yearning for his other half, another darkness away.  


He doesn't notice Feilea until she's right beside him. "I have tea," she says, "would you like some?"  


“Please,” he replies. There's a chill in the air that bites--the sun will warm it by midday, but now he can feel goosebumps on his neck. She pushes a mug into his field of vision, steaming and warm to the touch. In comparison, her fingertips were cool to the touch as they brush his own.  


Feilea inhales deeply before she takes a sip. "What an earthy flavor," she murmurs. "It's perfect."

"It's...just tea," Takame mutters. Tea is tea, right? Leaves steeped in hot water for a time. Nothing particularly special.

She chuckles. "Ishgard's tea is black. I'll always take it with cream," she muses. "Ul'dah will serve you something spicy--and the merchants will push you on the most expensive leaves. 'You can't find it anywhere else!'" She rolls her eyes. "There are more honest folk in Thanalan who will get you the same thing for a fraction of the price."

Takame couldn't quite tell where she was going with this. He glanced down at his mug; some of the leaves had settled to the bottom, and he took a sip. It was hot, but not so hot to burn himself. It warmed him through, and he felt his shoulders relax. He had a tendency to stand too stiff, too straight, too tense. A holdover from less favorable times.  


"No matter where you go, there's a little bit of home in every cup," she says. Her eyes grow distant, but it's just for a moment before she turns to him. "Is this home for you?"  


What a peculiar question. It burns his chest hot, and makes him scowl. "I don't...have a home," he replies.  


Feilea's eyes blink wide--they sparkle vibrant green, even without her characteristic purple makeup to accentuate them. It's just for a moment, and then her face relaxes to its usual pleasant resting place. "I see," she says. “I understand.”

Takame doesn't quite believe her...but he wants to. And maybe he does, for she doesn't pry further. She looks over her shoulder, back to the markets, where merchants are just beginning to set up. "Oh, and I was just enjoying the morning," she says with a pout. It's a magnificent one. It's nearly endearing. "Let me do my face and we can get going."  


He had never told her that the bustle of the markets made him uncomfortable, that the crowds and the shouting salesmanship annoyed him. He didn't have to, and knowing that relaxed the crease in his brow.  


She wasn't a bad traveling companion.

* * *

The sex was fine. Feilea could tell that he didn’t have much experience, but she still allowed him to lead for as long as he could. She had slept with many before him, and there would be more after, but the experience was still…unique. He was more polite than some others--he asked permission for everything, treated her as a lady, which was more than she could ask for. Despite this, she still couldn’t help but feel as if he were going through the motions. He tugged at her hair, he kissed her hard, he moaned where he was supposed to…

…and yet.

Feilea was used to divining what others wanted from her. It was the Echo, as she had come to understand. Whether a client or a lover, she always found herself knowing what they wanted, how they wanted it, and how much to give. Sex came easy, and so many people wanted it…what was there to lose?  


But, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see into Takame’s desires. Even as he was deep inside, beginning to pant, there was nothing, nothing. Maybe that in itself was enough. It still bothered her, and as he came to climax, she wondered what kind of shell this man had locked himself into.

Just as she was about to give up, she touched his face with her fingertips, stroking his scales. There, although his face didn’t betray him, she felt a pang deep in her chest. It was yearning…but there was also a gnawing emptiness, locked under layers of silence and self-contempt.

_ “Why me?” _   


and

_ “Why bother?”  
_

He opened one turquoise eye to her, exhausted, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet it.

* * *

Takame keeps his arms tucked close to his chest. “May I ask why we’re here?” he asks. “Gyr Abania is malms away from here…”

The Sapphire Exchange bustles with its usual activity, and Feilea is in high spirits. “It’s a quick visit, that’s all,” she says.  


His frown deepens. “People are staring,” he says through clenched teeth.

“It’s only because you’re tall, hon,” she dismisses. “Don’t mind them.”  


It’s an understatement--both of them stick out like sore thumbs, but Feilea doesn’t seem to mind. She has a confidence behind her every step that Takame can’t quite place. It’s a tall gait that turns heads, and not just because of her long ears, or her hair the color of freshly mined ceruleum, or the sway of her hips, or her striking beauty in general…

…no, there’s something  _ sure _ about her. He wouldn’t have guessed she was over a decade his senior by her looks alone, but the glint in her eyes betrays it. There is warmth in her features, there’s comfort in knowing that she’s seen the world, it’s goods and bads, and has a handle on what it has to offer. What the particulars are, she won’t say.  


Takame can’t blame her. He hasn’t revealed much of himself in their travels. He tells himself it’s better this way.  


“There!” Feilea exclaims suddenly, stopping in the middle of the exchange. She turns to him. “Would you like to meet my daughter?”  


Daughter? His head spins. She’s a mother. She’s mentioned it before, but for some reason, it never quite registered. “Er…I…” he fumbles, then huffs. “No.”  


His face is hot, and he knows it’s showing. Feilea winks at him and flicks her tongue out. “Okay. Just wait over here for me.”  


She slips through the crowd, and Takame finds a wall to lean on. His blue yukata stands out in the sea of reds and browns of the other merchants, not to mention his height and the sword on his belt. His tail flicks against the stone wall behind him, and he hopes that if he stays as he is, perfectly still, he will go unnoticed.  


In the meantime, he watches the pair of blue viera ears hop over to the only other viera in the hall. This one has a short bob of deep blue hair and wears an Immortal Flames uniform. Proudly, by the looks of it, as she salutes while she beams. “Mom!” she exclaims.

Feilea bends down and gives her a big hug. “Hi sweetie!”  


Their conversation sinks into the hustle and bustle of the market place. He had heard before that if you want to have a private conversation, have it in the exchange--people will just think it’s business as usual. Whether their conversation is confidential or not, it’s hard to tell. He watches Feilea stroke her daughter’s hair, as she speaks animatedly about what she’s been up to since her mother has been away. How long as she been traveling? In the time that they have been together, they haven’t passed through Ul’dah.  


He sighs to himself, and his eyes glaze over. He himself is old enough to have a family, but he doesn’t. He’s polite enough, he’s kind to others...even if his face is a little stern, but there’s been no one. Out of those Takame has met on his travels, Feilea has treated him the kindest...the most gentle, perhaps. It must be because she’s a mother…

...or is it because part of him never got the chance to be a child?

Someone taps him on the shoulder, and he jumps. It’s an elezen man with deep blue hair, and eyes to match. He’s dressed in brightly colored silks and beads, draped over his chest and hips. His shoulders, arms, and midriff are exposed to the Thanalan sun, yet are pale in spite of it. “You’re with Feilea?” he asks.

Takame blinks. He can’t spot her across the market, or her daughter. When he turns back to this man, this  _ striking  _ man, he feels a little dizzy. “I...you could...say that,” he manages to say.  


He chuckles and crosses his arms. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? She used to be the most sought after out on the strip,” he remarks. “Then she had a kid, she was a card dealer at the Gold Saucer, and then she became an adventurer and left us all behind.”  


Takame isn’t sure how to respond to this. Why does this elezen know so much about her? He stares up at the sky and shakes his head. “You’re a lucky man,” he continues, “don’t take it for granted, though. She’s here today, but she could be gone tomorrow.”  


The thought seizes Takame’s chest. Suddenly, he needs to know where she is, right now, before she slips away. And it’s not as if he wants her, or  _ needs  _ her, he just...it’s been nice traveling with her. And he doesn’t want to miss it. His eyes dart around the bazaar--it’s so much more crowded than Reunion could ever get--but for some reason, he can’t find that pair of denim blue ears…

_ Feilea? _

His heart pounds. Did he really lose her? The harder he looks, the less he can see out of panic. The market begins to spin, and his mouth feels dry. Feilea, Feilea. Where did you go?  


Just as he’s about to bolt out, he feels soft hands on his arms. “Takame?”

_ There  _ she is. He didn’t realize he’d wandered away from the wall...hells, he was almost in the middle of the market. The elezen is gone. There’s concern in her vibrant green eyes, and she studies him all over. “Are you okay? I wanted to meet her superior in the Flames for a minute…”

Her hands slide down his arms and cup his hands. His flinch from such a gentle touch...and she shies away. “I’m...fine,” he says with a nod. “I met someone who knew you, and--”

“Let me guess: an elezen as pale as Coerthan snow, wearing as little as he can?” She huffs and purses her mauve painted lips. “Damn it, Rildi…”  


“You know him?”  


“I do indeed,” she says. “He’s my daughter’s father.”  


It was an odd way to put it, and she didn’t seem to be in the mood to explain. She glances down both aisles of the exchange with a hurried gait. “We’re done here, we can go,” she says. “Stick close, we’ll go out the Gate of the Sultana.”  


She begins to bolt down the Sapphire Exchange. Before she can get too far, Takame grabs for her wrist, and clings as she drags him through the streets of Ul’dah. When she turns her cheek to check for him, there’s a smirk on her lips.

* * *

Once upon a time, Feilea was afraid of heights. Her sisters would climb trees while she stayed shivering on the ground, praying for her safety. She’d listen to the branches crack and creak beneath their feet, waiting for the day one would snap, and they would come crashing to the ground.

This was before she became a dragoon.  


Now, she was on the back of a dragon, soaring over the Dravanian Forelands, higher than she could even fathom jumping. She holds on tight with her thighs, although it wasn’t necessary--even with wings beating at her sides, the ride is quite smooth.  


_ “Lady Feilea,”  _ the dragon says, the rumble of her voice vibrating through her body.  _ “We should rest a moment.”  
_

“How come?” she replies. “Surely you can fly for malms without tiring?”  


_ “It’s more for your friend,”  _ she rumbles.  _ “I fear he is...a little green.”  
_

She turns, and her companion is hunched over, gripping the dragon’s scales as if his life depends on it. His hair whips in the wind, and threatens to come undone from its ponytail. He swallows hard and can’t take his eyes off the ground. Yes, it was probably time to take a break.

The dragon swoops over the towers of Anyx Trine and drops them off at the highest platform--Feilea pries Takame off as gently as she can, although he collapses on the stone immediately. “Oh, honey,” she coos, rubbing his back. “Take it easy…”

Takame tries to sit up straight, taking deep breaths to center himself. Even as queasy as he seems, Feilea finds herself admiring him. He’s a sweet man, truly...but she knows there’s more beneath the surface. She can  _ feel  _ it, every time she brushes her hands over him. She can’t help it--the instinct to comfort comes all too easily, and she always gives. Always.  


“I’m fine,” Takame says. “I have flown before...but...not that high, or fast.”

“It can take a little getting used to,” Feilea replies. Her attention draws itself to his hair--while it’s normally blond and sleek, the flight has made it matted and tangled, the hair tie nearly ripped out completely. “Gods, your hair…”

He reaches back and pats it. With a grimace, he shakes his head. “It’s been too long since it’s been cut anyway,” he says, resigned and defeated.  


Feilea scoots behind him and gently pulls out the tie. “You should have braided it,” she laments, clicking her tongue. Her own is done to her word--not necessarily neat, but still tamed and untangled. “I swear, men with long hair rarely know how to take care of it…”

Takame turns with a frown. “I  _ can  _ take care of it,” he retorts. “I  _ do.”  
_

She slips the tie between her teeth and begins to work. “Then you should know to tie it back more securely when doing something like this!” She tugs her fingers through his hair, careful not to pull the strands to hurt his head. “What a mess…”  


His hair is just as soft as it looks on a normal day, and thankfully, the knots unravel without too much hassle. She takes her time, as the overcast sky looms ahead, stroking the length of his hair, making it smooth within her hands. He’s tense at first, but then he relaxes...and do his shoulders shiver, just slightly? Feilea swears they do. Some find others playing with their hair uncomfortable, but others enjoy it...sometimes to a fault.

She hopes Takame’s feelings lean toward the latter. He hasn’t complained, after all. But, would he?

She splits his hair into three strands--small, near the top of his head. An Ishgardian braid, as she had been taught during her time in the Holy See. Little girls had long, long plaits to keep their backs and necks warm in the winter. Her own daughter, living under the Thanalan heat, always kept hers short, and Feilea never pushed her otherwise. Her thoughts drift like this as she braids his hair, starting small at the top, then growing bigger as she pulls more of his hair into it. He leans back into her, and she can measure his breath with the rise and fall of his back against her steadily braiding knuckles.  


As she runs out of hair, she pulls the tie she’s kept between her lips and ties it off. It nearly reaches the middle of his back--it’s a lot more hair than she expected. But, at least it’s all neat, even if it smells like the wind. “There we go,” she says, and pats his shoulder. “Takame?”  


He hasn’t said a word, but when he turns his head, his face is bright red. She can feel the heat radiating from it, even along his scales. “A-are you all right?”  


“Mmm…” He can’t seem to make a coherent sentence--he can barely even look up at her. It seems odd to her, given they’ve slept together already…

...but intimacy to some can be different to others.

* * *

The battlefield is really where Takame shines. He’s fast and accurate, his blade lethal at every slash. It comes so naturally to him, that he doesn’t need to think about it anymore. There is a body in front of him, an enemy that needs to be eliminated...so he does it.  


Years ago, he wore the same uniform. Now, he turns his sword against them. He feels nothing. He does what he’s told--it’s easier that way.  


Slash, slice, slice. The bodies fall like mayflies. Blood splatters across his face. This is what he was meant to do. This is what he’s best at. This is—

_ “Rraaah!”  
_

Feliea jumps down like a meteor about a hundred yalms away, and even from the range, it shakes the ground. The empirical soldiers that weren’t immediately skewered by her lance scatter in the wake of the impact, and she’s ready for them. She spins and twirls her polearm like an elaborate dance--Takame vaguely recalls that she mentioned being a dancer on the streets of Ul’dah. It seems like she barely needs to touch anyone to make an impact…

...ah, but there’s a stab, right into someone’s gut. She has to shake him off, and it’s only a little gruesome.  


Something eggs in the back of his mind, and he finds himself making his way to her. He doubts she needs his help, at least, in this moment. But someone approaches her from behind, and shoots across her ear. She gasps and winces, and the soldier in front of her kicks her down.  


Takame sees red.  


He bolts across the battlefield, sword at his side, until he  _ lunges  _ into Feilea’s main offender. The soldier is about to stab her with the bayonet point blank. Takame won’t have that. He  _ can’t  _ have that. He reaches him and slices his head off.  


“K-kami help us!” exclaims another soldier. Doman, clearly, one who can’t help himself. “Get h-him! Get that auri devil!”  


Before he can barely get the words out, Takame is already on him, three holes in his chest before he collapses to the ground. There’s word of retreat in the air, and most of the Garleans are running, running, but Takame can’t hear anything. There’s a rush of blood in his head, there’s a dull thudding in his chest and his cheeks, and his mind feels like a tightly wound coil whining with electricity.  


At his feet, Feilea grunts as she rises. She’s scuffed and dirty, but her armor covered in wings and plate has done its job. She’s not terribly worse for wear, just exhausted, although she uses her lance as a crutch to keep herself up. These observations happen in front of Takame, but they don’t…quite register. His eyes glaze over.  


Still, Feilea meets them, she tries to. “I think we’ve got them,” she says. “They’re retreating to the western banks…”  


Takame still says nothing. His hands ache from gripping his sword so tightly, but he can’t seem to let go. If he lets go, he might fall apart.

But, something else happens first.

Feilea reaches up and touches his face, wiping some of the blood off his cheek with her thumb. “There, there,” she whispers. “It’s all over now. Okay? It’s over.”  


It’s over.

He blinks, and she’s standing there in full focus. He nods--yes, he heard her. It’s…over. It’s over.  


_ It’s over.  
_

His knees tremble, and he falls to them. Somehow, his vision blurs, and tears drip from his eyes. Did anyone say that to him, in his countless years of fighting? Ever since he was old enough to hold a sword and be thrown into the ranks, did anyone ask if he was okay? Did anyone offer a kind word?  


He couldn’t recall.  


Feilea falls with him on the grass. He pushes her hand away and dips his head. No, he can’t feel something that soft…he can’t. He’s supposed to be a killing machine, remember? Do what you’re told. He starts to shake. “D…don’t…” he mutters, somehow.  


“Oh, oh…” Feilea doesn’t leave, but he can feel her hands hover over him. She wants to touch him again, she wants to  _ comfort  _ him again. Oh, gods, oh kami above…what was this? What was this churning in his chest? Everything was threatening to burst out of him, and he wasn’t sure if he could hold it in…

She finally decides to hold his shoulders. “I have you,” she whispers. “You’re going to be okay.”

Violently, and without abandon, in the middle of a lingering battlefield, Takame begins to sob. 

* * *

They lie together in a cot that is far too small for both of them. Feilea shifts so that her leg drapes over his hips, and wraps her arms around his waist. “I’m surprised you were so eager,” she says against the nape of his neck. “I thought you might want to rest.”  


Takame shakes his head. Her lipstick stains linger all across his neck, his chest, and even his hips, and he feels like his own lips are smeared with it. He can still taste her on his tongue, and the reminder makes him shudder. “I...wanted to,” he replies. “I just wanted to.”  


She chuckles, low and deep, and she kisses the scales on his cheek. “You’ve been through a lot, and not just today,” she continues. “Thank you for showing me. Thank you...for trusting me enough to let me see.”  


How could he not? After the gentleness she had shown him, the genuine care and affection…he couldn’t help himself. A piece of the wall was broken. It would take a lot more to bring it down completely, but as she snuggles against his chest…he does feel some peace. More peace than he’s felt in a long time.  


“Feilea,” he whispers.  


He feels her shiver in his arms. He’s sure it’s reminiscent of the way he growled her name minutes prior, and the very memory stirs him as well. “Y…yes?” she says.  


He breathes deep, and smiles to himself. “It’s you I should be thanking,” he states.  


And for once, even if it’s just for a brief, shining moment, he feels like he’s home.


End file.
